


Grace

by Lydia_Eve



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/F, First Kiss, Gun Violence, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Multi, Pining, Pop Culture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-06-28 00:18:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19800787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lydia_Eve/pseuds/Lydia_Eve
Summary: Aziraphale starts dating humans. Crowley doesn't take it well.





	1. Someone to Spend Time With

_**“I do not understand the mystery of grace -- only that it meets us where we are and does not leave us where it found us.”** _ ****

**― Anne Lamott**

They were arguing about Ron Weasley, of all things. Aziraphale had read the books, and Crowley had seen the movies, so when they’d strolled by the theatre on opening week of _Harry Potter and the Cursed Child_ , they were both pleased when two tickets were somehow (both denied responsibility) available.

But now they were waiting for Part Two of the show that evening, and one harmless comment had led to another, and before he knew it, Crowley was singing Ron Weasley’s praises for all of post-apocalyptic London to hear.

Crowley was outraged by Ron’s characterization in the first half. _That’s not Ron, he’s a shell of himself_ , Crowley insisted. Aziraphale loved the whole thing and said Ron was always _a little bit of a clown, I mean, the love potion was a little strange, perhaps, one must question the ethics of such a thing, but it’s all a bit of fun, and besides, it’s very different in the books._

Crowley had read the books. He knew full well the books only supported his argument, but he was hardly about to admit this to Aziraphale, he had a reputation to keep up after all, so instead he just glared, which had a disappointing effect from behind his sunglasses.

“What do we think of Scorpius, though?” Aziraphale asked, peering at the menu of the restaurant they’d decided on between the show. London was having a beautiful summer ― Adam’s doing, they’d supposed ― and they were on the patio with little umbrellas in their iced drinks.

Crowley toyed with umbrella. It was green. “More adorable than I was expecting, I suppose,” he said, dropping the Ron subject for now. Maybe later he’ll say he read the books after the show and finish his argument properly, because Aziraphale was so, so wrong, but for now he was content to let it drop and enjoy the afternoon sun with his ― very wrong ― friend.

“He _is_ , isn’t he,” Aziraphale agreed. “What do you fancy? Are you eating, or just drinking?”

“Order whatever, angel, I’ll just pick off of yours.”

“Hmm,” Aziraphale said, which Crowley knew meant he agreed, and ordered the fajitas.

It was nice, being left alone. There’d not been a word from Heaven or Hell since Crowley and Aziraphale’d gone and embarrassed the lot of them at the End of Days two months ago. Since then it had been casual stroll this, and wine-soaked-evening-in-the-bookshop that, and one weekend in France because why the heaven not? There actually hadn’t been a day since the end of the world that they hadn’t seen each other, even when Aziraphale had nipped up to Scotland to find a rare first edition of something or other ― he’d still stopped by at Crowley’s flat just before midnight to have a cup of tea and brag about his find. Crowley, who hadn’t previously had the angel in his home, hastily miracled up a crate of tea and grinned from behind his teacup at Aziraphale’s excitement, and frankly, Aziraphale in his home in general.

So Crowley hadn’t even considered the possibility that when he asked if Aziraphale felt up to see Liverpool play the following evening, Aziraphale would say no.

“Oh?” Crowley said, polishing off the last of the guacamole. Maybe he’d admit responsibility for Helena Bonham Carter’s casting in the Potter movies and segue into his Ron argument from there, yes. “What would you rather do?”

Aziraphale delicately dabbed his napkin to his lips. “Oh, actually, I have a date.”

Time passed. Aziraphale could get very red indeed.

Crowley forced his mouth to close and finish chewing. “A date,” he repeated.

“Well, yes,” said Aziraphale, putting down his napkin and busying himself with pulling out his wallet while Crowley stared some more. Did … Aziraphale know what that word meant?

“A date with a human?” Crowley asked.

“Obviously.”

“In a … _romantic_ ―” he forced out the word– “sense or…?”

Aziraphale turned even redder. “Well, obviously we haven’t been out yet, I hardly know if it will be romantic at all, but the gentleman _did_ seem quite nice, and―”

Crowley had stopped listening. A loud buzzing had filled his skull and he was worried he was having an out-of-body experience, which was made more concerning because Crowley hadn’t always had a body and should have been _used_ to the idea of floating somewhere a few feet above their table looking down at Aziraphale babbling, flustered, and quite plainly in possession of the knowledge of what _a date_ meant.

_Gentleman._

Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, fussy bookshop owner, Crowley’s _best friend_ … was going on a date with a human. A human man.

Aziraphale had finally finished talking, and was looking at Crowley nervously, evidently waiting for some kind of response.

Crowley could feel his eyes wide and stunned behind his sunglasses and prayed that Aziraphale couldn’t tell.

“That’s ― well.” Crowley gestured with his empty cocktail glass as he searched for words. “I didn’t know you wanted … that.” _That._

“Oh, well, I mean, of course I do, lots of people do.”

“You’re hardly people.”

Aziraphale went red again. “I just thought it might be nice” ― there was that word again ― “to have certain experiences. Now that we’re essentially unemployed, we can spend more time on ourselves, I thought a romance might be nice, someone to spend time with, and I _would_ like a partner for that tandem bicycle, and oh, I _hoped_ you would understand.”

Crowley could have been struck harder than if Aziraphale had actually reached across the table and whacked him in the head. _Time on ourselves … someone to spend time with … hoped you would understand._

Crowley blinked, the shock still reverberating through him. Aziraphale’e eyes watched him, large and worried.

“‘Course I do, angel,” said Crowley, rising.

Aziraphale smiled, a weight seeming to lift from his shoulders, and rose to follow Crowley out of the restaurant.

“So do we think darling Scorpius is actually You-Know-Who’s son?” asked Aziraphale as they headed back to the theatre for Part Two.

“Who cares?” Crowley said, managing to fall back into the conversation somehow. “I want to know if Rose is actually Ron’s.”

Aziraphale spluttered. “Of course she is! Hermione would _never_ ―”

“How do you know?” Crowley snapped, patience run out at last. “Apparently no one’s acting how they should today.”

* ~ * ~ *

Crowley utterly failed to take in the rest of the play. After dropping Aziraphale off, Crowley went back to his flat and … did precisely nothing.

Half an hour had passed and he realized he was still standing in front of his door, having forgotten if he needed keys, or if he usually miracle it open. There were only three other flats on his floor, one unoccupied, so he rarely saw his neighbours ― a retired politician and a neighbour Crowley only knew as G.M. from the name on the mailbox ― and neither of them were around to witness his utter loss of mind that night. Eventually he tried the handle and expected it to open, so it did.

Then he stood in his front hallway for another hour until he remembered the brandy and proceeded to get methodically and atrociously drunk.

Most of the night didn’t bear thinking about. Crowley both tried to think about and tried to forget about what could have possessed the damn angel to want to go on a date with a human. With a human. _Someone to spend time with_ as though Aziraphale had been wandering around the last two months alone. Crowley took a particularly large swig of brandy whenever that particular thought came to mind.

He thought to sober up around noon. By then the thoughts in his head had swirled around enough times that he thought they might be forming a half-baked course of action. As was always the case when Crowley was in such a state, he went to Aziraphale’s.

* ~ * ~ *

The bell tinkled happily when Crowley barged his way into the bookshop. There were no customers, of course, and while Crowley didn’t actually know when Aziraphale’s date was meant to start, he was still going to treat time preciously and waste none of it.

“Angel, get out here,” he called before the door had even swung closed behind him.

Sure as the sunrise, Aziraphale walked into the room, removing a totally superfluous pair of reading glasses. The irony of this thought missed Crowley entirely.

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale, smiling a little uncertainly, “what brings you by?”

Crowley walked in an agitated circle around the room, then stopped and threw out his hands. “What are you thinking?” he demanded.

“What do you ―”

“You _know_ what I mean,” Crowley snapped. “It’s just ― have you thought this through?”

“Crowley ―”

“Do you even know what humans get up to in relationships these days? It’s not all tandem bikes and sunsets.”

“I imagine it’s what humans have always ―”

“Sex, angel,” Crowley blurted. “Romance. _Love._ I know you must love all of Her creatures and all that, but that’s not what humans―”

“ _Crowley._ ”

Crowley’s teeth clicked shut.

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “Crowley,” he said again, gentler, “I _know_.”

Crowley stared, processing this. “You know,” he repeated.

“Well, yes,” said Aziraphale. “I’m not completely out of touch with everything, despite your opinions on my taste in music. I know what humans often do and expect in relationships.”

“You do.”

“Crowley, yes,” said Aziraphale, seeming worried.

“And you … want to do all that with this human?”

Aziraphale coughed. “I mean, I don’t know him very well yet, Erik, by the way, but he came looking for a book for work that I didn’t have. Well, that is, I _had_ it, but I happened to know of another bookseller who would have it for a better price, and he stopped by to thank me, and asked me for coffee. He seems intelligent and good-looking and I certainly wouldn’t rule out the _possibility_ of sex, probably not on the first date for heaven’s sake, and of course I am not in love with the man, but … I would like to think that I … could be one day.”

And it hit Crowley then.

Before, Crowley had always thought that they’d been busy with work, or that angels just weren’t interested in all that messy human business of relationships, but now. Now he _knew_ , and he knew that Aziraphale _did_ in fact want that, want all of it, just not with him, and for the first time in 6000 years, Crowley realized why knowledge was actually so dangerous in the first place.

He realized that he’d never had a chance with Aziraphale at all.

“Crowley, are you ―” Aziraphale began when Crowley had only stood there, mouth just a little open.

“Fine,” said Crowley trying to sound bright, but having the dim sense that it came out rather choked. It was Alpha Centauri again, but somehow so much worse, because nothing was on the line this time, no great battles to fight, no honour in staying behind. There would be no dramatic parting, or giddy relief in the end, because this wasn’t the end. It was just another day in a string of mundane days that would continue their separate lives.

“Crowley, maybe I’d better cancel if you ―”

“No,” said Crowley, managing to get his voice just a little back under control. “No, I ― just. I just wanted to make sure you knew. But you do, so. Have fun.” And if that last part had started sounding a little choked again it didn’t matter, because Crowley turned and left the bookshop, the little bell tolling behind him like a knell.


	2. Best Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aziraphale says "I love you" and Crowley doesn't say it back.

Humans were very easy to read, Crowley reflected. After thousands of years and thousands of temptations, Crowley rarely found himself wondering about a human’s thoughts or intentions. The human man on Crowley’s left was at the Liverpool game, clearly itching for a fight; every few minutes he’d turn to his friends ― clad in similar colours ― and talk about how those tossers from Chelsea have it coming. Crowley had already seen to the man’s trousers – they were now miracled to fall the moment the man made his move. The others clearly saw him as their leader. If he failed to do anything particularly nasty, they wouldn’t start anything themselves.

Angels were not easy to read.

Crowley watched Aziraphale on his right from behind his sunglasses, face barely turned towards him. He watched Aziraphale sip his beer and make a small face. Aziraphale opened the little booklet that Aziraphale refused to call a _programme_ and hummed as he read the description of the captain.

Aziraphale’s date had been three days ago, and Crowley was dying to ask him about it, but of course he _couldn’t_ , it was unthinkable, and Aziraphale had offered exactly zero details himself.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said eventually, “I think the men next to us are planning to get a bit rough after the match.”

Crowley’s mouth quirked into a small smile. “Don’t worry, angel, I’ve already got it.”

Aziraphale looked relieved. “Oh, of course you have,” he said, brightening unfairly at Crowley. “You always do.”

The match began and Crowley sipped at his own beer, stifling the same expression Aziraphale had made at it a moment ago.

“Awful stuff, isn’t it,” Aziraphale commented. His own beer was firmly placed on the ground under his seat already.

“Oh, it’s all right,” Crowley began under the roar of the crowd.

“No, don’t give me that, it’s awful,” Aziraphale said. 

“It’s a sporting match,” Crowley said, draping himself further over the plastic seat, “it’s practically required. When in Rome, and all that.”

Aziraphale made a noise of discontent. “No,” he insisted. “We’re too old and we’ve been through too much to drink bad beer. Let me just―” He rummaged in his satchel under Crowley’s raised eyebrows. “There.” He pulled out a medium-sized flask and beamed at Crowley. “Whiskey?”

Crowley tossed his head back and laughed. “You snuck alcohol in? Rebel.”

Aziraphale had that strange expression of looking pleased and flustered all at the same time. It was adorable and made Crowley’s heart ache.

“One of us had to,” Aziraphale finally settled on, waving the flask under Crowley’s nose.

Crowley snatched it from him with a grin and took a swig before passing it back. The flask went back and forth a few times in a comfortable silence. Liverpool missed a penalty kick and the men next to them were roaring furiously. Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged a look of mild annoyance.

“Chips?” Crowley finally offered, procuring the dubiously termed food from beneath his seat.

Aziraphale reached for the tiny pot of gravy and tilted it a little to the side. The gravy stayed put. “You must be joking,” he said.

Crowley popped a chip in his mouth and grinned, chewing obnoxiously. “Rome, angel,” he said, and Chelsea scored.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and clapped politely as the stands around them erupted. “Really, my dear,” was all he said, then stopped clapping quickly as he realized he was in the wrong side of the stadium to be clapping.

A few minutes later, when the booing had subsided into its usual din, Crowley called upon some inner courage.

“So how was the date?” he asked as casual as he could possibly manage. He slunk down in his seat another inch. “Erik, was it?”

Since the Apocalapse, they’d not seen each other exactly two days: the two between Aziraphale’s date and the football match. Crowley hadn’t been able to make himself call on Aziraphale, though She knew he wanted to. Aziraphale had rung him on the second day ― Crowley scrambling to pick up midway through the first ring ― and suggested the Liverpool game as though it possibly mattered.

Now here they were and _damn_ them straight to ― somewhere ― the group next to them had just let out a yell of aggression at the world around them, drowning Crowley's words.

“What was that?” Aziraphale asked, leaning towards Crowley with his eyes still on the match.

Crowley grit his teeth and promptly made the alcohol in the men’s drinks vanish.

“I said,” he said again, sliding down just a little more, almost ridiculous now in his slouch, “how was the date?”

Aziraphale turned to Crowley and looked briefly startled to see the state of his friend draped across the chair like a sodden towel. Crowley hastily straightened a bit.

“Went well enough, I suppose,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley, barely hanging on to his grip on sanity, said, “Oh?”

“Yes, he seemed quite intelligent.”

“Great,” said Crowley through clenched teeth.

The match went on. Chelsea badly fumbled a corner kick.

“Do.” Crowley cleared his throat. “Do you think you’ll see him again?”

“We’re having dinner next weekend, actually,” said Aziraphale slowly. “If―”

Crowley blinked. “If?” he asked.

Aziraphale seemed a little unsettled now. They were both turned towards each other in their chairs now, the match temporarily forgotten. A rear end from the left bumped Crowley briefly on the side of the head, but he managed to ignore it. He could have sworn Aziraphale had been about to follow up with _If that’s all right,_ which was the most ridiculous thought for a number of reasons, chief among them that Aziraphale didn’t need a soul’s permission to do as he pleased, much less _Crowley’s_ , but―

“Angel?” he asked softly.

Aziraphale laughed a little awkwardly, almost to himself. “Nothing,” he said, trying to smile.

And Crowley realized that perhaps he’d misjudged the situation. Maybe Aziraphale _did_ care what he thought, and heav ― somewhere help him, Crowley had been treating the whole situation like a live grenade.

Slowly, painfully, Crowley removed his sunglasses and looked at the nervous angel.

“Aziraphale,” he said, not quite making eye contact, but not looking away either. “This thing you’re doing― I know I seemed, maybe, a little ―” he made a vague gesture “―about it, but I didn’t mean to be an arsehole. I ― want you to be happy.”

Aziraphale let out a shaky laugh.

“I mean,” Crowley forced out, remembering with a wince the last time they had this conversation, “we’re ― _friends_ , aren’t we? A little bit? And I―”

“Oh, _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale said. “Of course we are!”

Crowley’s sharp intake of breath gave away far too much, he knew that, but Aziraphale pressed on.

“I’m sorry if I ever made you doubt it,” Aziraphale continued, eyes shining just a little, to Crowley’s astonishment. “What I said ― it was completely out of line, throwing centuries of friendship out the window just because I was scared. I can’t even believe I said that―”

_Friends? We’re not friends. We are an angel and a demon. We have nothing whatsoever in common, I don’t even like you._

Crowley’s eyes dropped a little. He didn’t really want to talk about it.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale continued. “You are my best friend in the world. I love you. Please know that.”

And oh, how that stung. Here was Aziraphale saying everything Crowley had wanted, but not in the way he wanted, _never_ in the way he wanted.

And yet.

Wasn’t that the problem, really? That he’d wanted Aziraphale for millennia, wanted the angel to be on _their_ side at last. To stop pretending like they were mortal enemies so they could finally share a bottle of wine without anything standing between them. And here it was, finally. It was more than Crowley’d hoped.

Crowley pressed his lips together hard. He was so worried he was going to ― _something._

“Crowley?” came Aziraphale’s worried voice.

Not daring to raise his eyes, Crowley reached for the back of Aziraphale’s neck and brought their foreheads together. It was the closest they’d ever come to real physical affection, and Aziraphale’s answering clasp at Crowley’s shoulder had Crowley nearly coming apart. It wasn’t what he wanted ― not quite ― but oh, was it sweet.

“I know that,” Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale breathed a laugh and Crowley answered it with a smile.

“Well,” said Crowley, closing his eyes into the touch _just once more_ before pulling away, “I know that _now_ ,” he admitted, slanting a grin over at Aziraphale and sliding his sunglasses back on.

Aziraphale looked a little sad still, a little lost, almost, but he gave a real smile in return.

By some miracle (maybe), the group next to them did not notice the public male affection that had occurred in their vicinity. Chelsea had scored again, and the crowd was enraged.

“Think I should give them rifles again?” Crowley mused.

“Oh, hush,” said Aziraphale, frowning around at the crowd. “I think someone could get seriously hurt.”

“It’s a football match, love, crowd gets violent all the time,” said Crowley.

And there. It was the closest Crowley was going to come to saying it back. If Aziraphale didn’t catch it, then― But no. Crowley risked a glance over ― it was easier now with his sunglasses ― in time to see Aziraphale’s breath catch. Crowley stared a moment longer and Aziraphale gave him an adoring smile in return. Crowley lost himself a little in returning the smile.

“You like the idea of senseless violence now, is that it?” Crowley teased, intentionally ruining the moment, but then, not really ruining it at all.

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale said, playing along. “You know what they say ― it's a slippery slope from thwarting Heaven’s battles to starting football riots.” Crowley snorted with laughter and Aziraphale looked pleased with himself.

“The apocalypse has ruined you,” Crowley said. “I bet you’ll be making rude comments to strangers on the internet within a week.”

“And what about you?” Aziraphale said, still sitting very straight and proper but with a twinkle in his eye. “I know you’re still keeping an eye on that bus stop in front of your flat every morning. Not very demonic.”

“Oi!” said Crowley, caught off-guard. He didn’t even know how Aziraphale _knew_ about that. “It’s _kids_ , angel. Twelve year olds shouldn’t be getting bothered for their school uniform skirts. You know that.”

“Yes, yes,” said Aziraphale. “It’s just a very ni―”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale over the top of his sunglasses.

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “It’s about the _worst_ thing a demon could do. Should think it would bother Hell more than anything else.”

Crowley looked back at the game. “Exactly,” he said, but he was smiling.

They made their way out of the stadium after the end of the game. (Chelsea had won 18 – nil, but the Liverpool fans found themselves utterly unable to manifest their rage and instead were all turning steadily redder as they made painstakingly polite conversation with each other.)

“So the Chelsea bloke looks at me with this shit-eating grin like he _wants_ to get it punched off his face,” a guy was saying.

“And what did you do?” his friend inquired politely, looking one shade of red away from a heart attack.

“I bid him good day,” the first man ground out through clenched teeth.

“Good – on – you,” his friend replied.

Crowley and Aziraphale stumbled out into the streets laughing like children who’d got away with tricking their teacher all afternoon. They hadn’t even decided on who would have disapproved of the miracle more ― Heaven or Hell ― and found they couldn’t quite care. They were on their own side now.


	3. Bad Ideas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley stops time.

Crowley didn’t _have_ bad ideas. Not exactly.

He’d had plenty of brilliant ideas: the M25, Scientology, Disney World, cosplaying Freddie Mercury for a month straight in 1999.

But now, post-apocalypse, Crowley seemed to be full of them. If he didn’t know better, he’d suspect divine influence, but the only thing Crowley’s bad ideas seemed to be affecting was himself.

For example, and yes, _yes, _he _knew_ ― after Aziraphale’s declaration of love at the football game and Crowley’s sneaky (cowardly) way of saying it back, he found he wanted to say it again.__

__Hell help him._ _

__This one he knew would be a bad idea, but the memory of Aziraphale’s breath at the word haunted Crowley in the days after. He fell asleep to the little intake of breath when Aziraphale had realized that Crowley had called him _love_._ _

__It was stupid. It was a pet name lots of people threw around. It wasn’t even a declaration. And besides, “angel” was more than affectionate enough, not that Crowley would have admitted that under anything but pain of Aziraphale’s death._ _

__It a week after the game, and though it wasn’t the first time they’d seen each other since then, it was the first time Crowley had got up the nerve. Erik had turned out to be incompatible with Aziraphale, and the angel had decided not to see him again, so Crowley was in a good enough mood. He’d been voicing happily voicing his theories on what went wrong with Erik and Aziraphale._ _

__“No,” Aziraphale said firmly. “Utterly incorrect.”_ _

__It was the “utterly” that let Crowley know he was right._ _

__“Mostly correct,” said Crowley._ _

__“No!”_ _

__“You can lie to me, but you can’t lie to Her, angel,” Crowley said with a sweeping gesture at the world around them as they moved (one sauntering and one strolling) down the street. “You broke up with him because he’s an atheist.”_ _

__“Well,” said Aziraphale, taking a wary look around as though to check that She wasn’t about to appear, “all right. But it wasn’t _just_ that he was an atheist,” he said while Crowley cackled. “He ― well, he seemed to make fun of anyone who _would_ believe. Anyone who might take comfort in their faith.”_ _

__It was still funny, but less so now that Aziraphale explained it. He kind of saw the angel’s point, even if he wasn’t planning on saying so._ _

__“So now what?” Crowley asked. “Going to hit the clubs, or just wait for true love behind your counter during operating hours?” He could say it because neither option was in any way possible; Aziraphale wasn’t going to Pick Up in a club, and with operating hours being what they were, well. Crowley grinned behind his sunglasses._ _

__“Actually I’ve joined a LGBT book club,” said Aziraphale, and it was such a sweet, _Aziraphale_ thing to say that Crowley almost tripped over his own feet. “Watch yourself, dear boy,” Aziraphale added lightly._ _

__“Angel,” said Crowley, recovering quickly, “I absolutely think this is the best idea you’ve ever had for yourself, but you’re not going to _meet someone_ in a book club. It’s the least romantic place I can think of.”_ _

__“You can think of other romantic places?” Aziraphale asked him, and suddenly the conversation slipped right out of Crowley’s hands._ _

__“Plenty,” Crowley snapped with utter confidence, and then failed to think of a single place that he and Aziraphale hadn’t personally been in the last month alone. The Ritz, a patio at dusk with a string of white lights under the umbrellas, St. James park, that weekend in France, the opera, a _picnic_._ _

__“Well?” asked Aziraphale._ _

__“What’s the book?” Crowley asked instead._ _

__“ _Small Gods_ ,” Aziraphale said. “It’s a comedy. You’d probably like it. Actually, why don’t you―”_ _

__“No,” said Crowley quickly, “that won’t do. Besides, I have the perfect solution to your problem.”_ _

__“I wouldn’t really say it’s a prob―”_ _

__“The internet!” Crowley announced. When Aziraphale failed to emote appropriately, he added: “Dating sites, angel. There’s loads of them. Let’s get you started there.”_ _

__“Oh, I don’t know,” said Aziraphale, turning to look at Crowley with worried eyes._ _

__“It’s because you’ve never tried it,” Crowley said. His mind was turning now. Was this a bad idea? Probably. But Crowley had promised himself he would enjoy life with Aziraphale in whatever way he could have him, and if that meant friendship, then Crowley would be the friend the angel deserved. He could help Aziraphale navigate the internet, set up an account for him, maybe get him a mobile, now that Crowley thought about it._ _

__“Well…” said Aziraphale._ _

__They were almost at the bookshop now, just across the street. Crowley needed some time to get it all set up, but he could do that. He could face down Heaven and Hell; he could certainly figure out tinder._ _

__“If you’d like, I could do some preliminary research,” Crowley offered. “Why don’t you come ‘round mine tomorrow afternoon? I’ll have something set up by then.”_ _

__Aziraphale looked conflicted, but Aziraphale always looked conflicted. “All right,” he said, giving a small smile._ _

__Crowley, unable to help himself, smiled back, and with Aziraphale’s tiny gasp still in mind, added, “That’s the spirit, love.”_ _

__It was a bad idea; Aziraphale did indeed react again ― his eyes went wide and his mouth quirked, and before Crowley could even begin to be pleased with himself, Aziraphale stepped off the curb and was struck immediately by a car._ _

__“No,” Crowley managed to choke as time seemed to slow ― time seemed to slow ― time seemed…_ _

__Time._ _

__Aziraphale had hit the ground before Crowley got his shit together and threw his hands to the sky like he’d done just once before and _prayed_._ _

__Time came to a roaring stop followed by almost immediate silence. Crowley dropped to his knees next to Aziraphale, who wasn’t moving. Crowley’s fingers flew to Aziraphale’s throat, searching for a pulse._ _

__“Angel, angel, _please_ ,” Crowley murmured, not even a little bit aware he was speaking at all._ _

__And there. A faint pulse._ _

__Crowley had healed the odd illness before, during the arrangement. He could do Polio, broken bones, he was a near-professional at gangrene. He once brought back a kid’s service dog, filling out some paperwork for Below as to why the beast was actually a Tool for Evil. He’d never quite done this, not with a human. Not with an _angel_._ _

__Hardly thinking, Crowley leaned down to Aziraphale’s still, scratched face, and brought their mouths together._ _

__Closing his eyes, Crowley focused his entire soul on the task. With his palms pressed gently to the sides of Aziraphale’s face, Crowley could feel the blood flowing back into their vessels and sealing themselves, the bones knitting back together, the skin smoothing out, and then ― a gasp into Crowley’s mouth._ _

__Crowley flew back from Aziraphale like he’d been burned._ _

__“Angel,” he said._ _

__“Crowley,” said Aziraphale, blinking as he sat up._ _

__“You ― you,” Crowley said, and couldn’t bring himself to continue._ _

__“No, I remember,” said Aziraphale stretching out his arms with a frown. He patted himself down as Crowley watched on. Then, with a soft smile at Crowley, added, “Thank you.”_ _

__Crowley had to fight the absurd urge to burst into tears._ _

__“Right then,” he said instead, and snapped his fingers, bringing time rushing back to them._ _

__The driver of the vehicle raced out of his car. “Oh God,” he said, dropping to his knees next to Aziraphale. “Are you all right?”_ _

__Aziraphale pretended to consider this, standing up slowly and rolling his neck a little. “Yes, I believe I am,” he said._ _

__“I am,” said the driver, nearly choking out the words, “ _so_ sorry. Do you need an ambulance?”_ _

__“No, no, I don’t think there’s any need for that,” Aziraphale said._ _

__“But―” said the driver. “Is there anyone I can call for you?”_ _

__Crowley’s vision was doing something strange ― dancing at the edges somehow ― but he decided to contribute to the conversation anyway._ _

__“We’ll take the ambulance,” he said firmly. Or possibly firmly. The whole world was doing something funny, actually._ _

__“Crowley,” came Aziraphale’s voice, a little sharper than usual, “are you all right?”_ _

__Crowley was decidedly not. “Oh yes,” he said, “tickety-boo.” And everything went dark._ _

__He woke up in the hospital._ _

__He could hear the din of the lights and the high beeping of various machinery around the ― shared, he realized ― room._ _

__“I know you’re awake,” said Aziraphale’s voice, even before Crowley opened his eyes._ _

__The lights were bright ― brighter than they should be, even._ _

__“Yes,” said Aziraphale, as Crowley hissed against the sting, “it should be temporary. I had to do a little something to your eyes for when you came to.”_ _

__Crowley groaned._ _

__“You were out for three days,” Aziraphale said._ _

__“You’d think I wouldn’t still be tired,” Crowley said, glancing around the room. It was strange to be here, uncomfortable. It made him feel a little ― mortal._ _

__“The official diagnosis is stress and exhaustion,” said Aziraphale. “But, Crowley, you saved an _angel_ ―”_ _

__A nurse poked his head around the blue curtain. “Good morning, Anthony,” he chirped. Crowley hated him immediately. “Feeling better?”_ _

__“No,” Crowley grumbled._ _

__“I’m nurse Stevens,” the nurse continued, “call me Ed.”_ _

__“Listen, Ed, I’m leaving,” said Crowley._ _

__“We’d like the doctor to look in on you first,” Ed said, glancing at Aziraphale, who ― bless him ― nodded in agreement._ _

__“Anthony,” Aziraphale said, the name startling and vaguely upsetting coming from him, “it won’t be much longer, I’m sure.”_ _

__“Listen to your husband,” said Ed, “and I’ll be back in a bit.”_ _

__The hideous blue curtain swung closed behind the nurse and Crowley raised an eyebrow at Aziraphale._ _

__“They wouldn’t let me in otherwise, you know that,” said Aziraphale, flushing a little. “I could hardly pass as your father.”_ _

__“There we are,” Ed announced, swinging through the curtain with an armload of tools Crowley didn’t know the names of. Sure, he’d seen them in movies, but that didn’t mean he wanted to know them _personally_. Biblically, even. Crowley shuddered._ _

__“No,” said Crowley, as Ed approached him with a light on the end of a metal stick._ _

__“Anthony,” Aziraphale said softly, drawing Crowley’s attention back. “Please. You’d want me to.”_ _

__“That’s because you were hit by a car!” Crowley snapped._ _

__“I heard!” Ed exclaimed, as though the whole thing were a soap opera. “He walks away just fine, and you’re the one who ends up in here. Very romantic, if you ask me.”_ _

__“I didn’t ask you,” Crowley snapped at the same time Aziraphale asked, “Romantic?”_ _

__“Well, yes,” said Ed, shining a light into Crowley’s newly human eyes. “Some miracle saves your life, but your husband’s so worried about you that he swoons in terror. All the nurses are talking about it.”_ _

__“Oh,” said Aziraphale. Crowley batted at the light like a kitten._ _

__“Open wide,” said Ed with the light, and Crowley felt a tiny miracle force his jaws apart. He glared at Aziraphale._ _

__“Ungh,” Crowley complained._ _

__“Okay, and finally,” said Ed, brandishing a long stringy thing._ _

__Crowley submitted to the stethoscope without complaint because he figured the whole thing would be over faster that way._ _

__“Don’t worry, hubby,” Ed said with a wink at Aziraphale, “his heart’s just fine.”_ _

__Ed left, promising a doctor would check in on them soon._ _

__Crowley exhaled in a rush. “Let’s go, angel,” he said._ _

__“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, putting a hand on Crowley’s arm to stop him. “Wait.”_ _

__Crowley sunk back into the bed and stared up in something like alarm as Aziraphale shifted forward to sit on the bed. It wasn’t exactly being in bed together, surrounded by vomit-blue, if there was such a colour, and only one of them lying down, but it was closer than they’d ever previously been._ _

__Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and looked down at their joined fingers. “What do you think would happen,” the angel asked, “if we were to discorporate now.”_ _

__Crowley, who had also been staring down at their joined hands in amazement, looked up at Aziraphale and didn’t ― couldn’t ― answer. He remembered with utter clarity how he’d felt in those moments before Aziraphale opened his eyes. After a moment, Aziraphale met his eyes and nodded._ _

__“Yes,” said Aziraphale, “I agree. Heaven wasn’t eager to give me a new body last time, and that was before I thwarted their war.”_ _

__Stuck in Heaven and Hell. Crowley could hardly bear thinking about it._ _

__“You’d be stuck solving the problem of Maria forever,” Crowley said, hoping to lighten the mood. Ordinarily _The Sound of Music_ never failed to get a reaction from Aziraphale. It didn’t today._ _

__“We have to be careful now,” Aziraphale said._ _

__“Yes,” said Crowley._ _

__There was a pause, then: “You kissed me,” Aziraphale said._ _

__Crowley hesitated. He certainly hadn’t thought of it as a kiss, but at the same time, he’d thought of no better way to try to breathe life into someone. “Sort of,” he said, voice hoarse._ _

__Aziraphale nodded as though they were in any way in agreement._ _

__With their hands still entwined, Crowley took a deep breath. “Can I do it again?” he asked._ _

__Aziraphale didn’t seem surprised by this request, didn’t start or splutter or anything. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said instead._ _

__Crowley was saved the agony of having to reply by Aziraphale reaching out and brushing the hair away from his face as though he hadn’t said anything. Crowley went very still and Aziraphale’s hands continued their exploration ― Crowley’s face, his jaw, and finally ― Aziraphale leaned down, and ever so gently pressed his lips to Crowley’s._ _

__The kiss was so gentle, so soft, so everything Crowley wanted. He closed his eyes just as Aziraphale pulled back a fraction of an inch. They were so close Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s breath on his mouth, which was, aside from the kiss itself, the singularly most exquisite feeling he’d ever experienced._ _

__“I think it’s a great idea,” Crowley whispered, still not opening his eyes. In response, Aziraphale pressed their lips together again, and this time Crowley made sure to kiss him back._ _

__It started slow ― almost as innocent as the first one ― then Aziraphale made a tiny noise that made Crowley lose his mind, and Crowley surged up into him, gripping Aziraphale’s shoulders and pulling him closer. He slid his tongue into Aziraphale’s mouth and nearly imploded when the angel met him halfway, his hand sliding around to the back of Crowley’s head and deepening the kiss._ _

__“Oh, wow!” Ed exclaimed, coming up beside the bed._ _

__Without looking, Crowley raised a hand to miracle the horrible man away, but Aziraphale’s hand caught his and gripped it hard, pushing it back into the bed. The result was that Aziraphale was now pining Crowley to the bed by his wrists, which was a hundred times better, and Aziraphale broke the kiss and looked at Crowley sternly._ _

__Unfortunately that also did nothing to ebb Crowley’s arousal, but he wasn’t so far gone as to not realize that Aziraphale was stopping him._ _

__“Sorry, lads,” said Ed, “this is Doctor Cortez.”_ _

__Aziraphale released Crowley and sunk back onto the stiff-looking chair beside the bed. The doctor poked and prodded and talked about various things, and Aziraphale seemed to nod along to everything, but Crowley didn’t take his eyes off Aziraphale._ _

__“Did you hear that?” Aziraphale asked eventually, finally meeting Crowley’s eyes._ _

__“No,” said Crowley honestly._ _

__Aziraphale managed a small, conflicted smile. “We can go now,” he said._ _

__They made their way out together ― Aziraphale insisting on pushing Crowley’s wheelchair “at least to the taxis, dear” ― and into the back of a cab. Aziraphale gave the driver Crowley’s address, and they spent the ride in silence. Crowley thought about taking Aziraphale’s hand, but ― Aziraphale. Aziraphale had seemed to retreat into himself, staring out the window as though trying to figure out where they were. Crowley was pretty sure it wouldn’t be wanted just then._ _

__“Here we are,” said the driver._ _

__Aziraphale paid the man and held Crowley’s elbow as they made their way into the building, Crowley muttering an “it’s fine, angel,” and wincing as Aziraphale snatched his hand away._ _

__They shuffled to Crowley’s apartment door, and there, in the long, dark, expensive hall, Aziraphale opened his mouth. “Crowley.”_ _

__“Don’t,” Crowley said, cutting him off._ _

__“It wasn’t that I didn’t like it―”_ _

__“That,” said Crowley, rubbing his head, “is exactly what I don’t want.”_ _

__“Crowley―”_ _

__“Stop!” Crowley shouted. Aziraphale looked as though Crowley had slapped him. Crowley exhaled and leaned back against his door. “Aziraphale,” he said quietly, “you don’t have to say anything. If you don’t want to do that again, it doesn’t change a thing. We’re still on our side. Still you and me against the world.”_ _

__Aziraphale still looked uncertain._ _

__“I swear, angel,” Crowley said._ _

__Aziraphale nodded._ _

__“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” Crowley said._ _

__“Yes,” said Aziraphale. “And no more big miracles. Just take it easy for a few days. That was ― well, Crowley, that was incredible.”_ _

__Crowley smiled. “’Course, angel.”_ _

__Aziraphale left. Crowley went inside. And while Crowley knew that kiss would forever haunt him, he couldn’t quite bring himself to consider it a bad idea._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Please drink responsibly. Getting drunk is absolutely not a good way of dealing with heartbreak. Talking to the person is usually a better way, though in this case, not talking makes for a better story.


End file.
